


Redux: New Dawn

by SpaghetCat



Category: Far Cry: New Dawn
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:01:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27193477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaghetCat/pseuds/SpaghetCat
Summary: Basically my personal "What if?" of New Dawn having a voiced protagonist with a personality, as well as some story tweaks thought it'll follow the same beats. Pretty action-focused.Crossposted on FF.net.
Kudos: 1





	Redux: New Dawn

Two things stood out to Corey as he surveyed the tunnel; first, fire. Second, combatants right outside the entrance.

From his crouched position underneath an upside-down train car, he was rather hard to see even if you knew where to look. Staying hidden was always an option.

He mentally crossed it out, though. The flames were still relatively small in scale but would soon begin growing, smoke coming with it. Even with his being close to the ground, chances were high he’d choke on the ash and fumes if the fire didn’t get him first if he stayed.

The Irishman simply decided that trying to escape was the only feasible option, and that’d result in him inevitably crossing path with the Highwaymen outside the tunnel. Furrowing his brow, he reached for his M1911 pistol on his hip.

Corey frowned when his hand only grabbed nothing but air, muttering a soft, “Oh fuck’s sake.”

He must’ve lost it when the train was overturned. He reached for his other side, praying to god that his knife was still in his makeshift sheathe. Thankfully, his fingers brushed against the hilt. Sliding it out of its sheathe, he quickly examined it in the low light of the fire for any damage.

Apart from some dirt and ash, it looked ready to get to work. And so was Corey.

The Irishman flipped the blade into a reverse grip and began crawling out of his little spot, staying on the ground and glancing up at the ceiling of the tunnel. The smoke was already beginning to fill up the top portion. Thankfully, it was tall enough that he should be fine with just hunching over a little.

Not wanting to waste any time, he pushed himself to his feet and tightened the grip on his knife. He could already begin to make out talking from up ahead. Judging by how the speakers made no effort to keep their volume down, they were Highwaymen.

He slunk forward, eyes and ears strained to catch any sign of movement. The voices only grew louder until he got close enough to clearly understand them.

“Can’t believe these fuckin’ morons rushed their train right through our territory. You’d think they’d be smarter, livin’ this long n’ all.”

“I know, right? They’re not even that tough. I saw Gibbs execute a few who were cryin’ for their lives,” Corey heard one snigger.

It seemed they were right around corner from where he was crouched. Corey pressed himself flat against the pile of rubble, daring a look. Thankfully, both Highwaymen had their backs turned, facing a flaming train cart.

His eyes scanned for weapons, finding only baseball bats and a worn sledgehammer. No guns. Both a blessing and a curse.  
Corey retreated back behind the pile, eyes now scanning for a piece small enough to easily lift but heavy enough to do serious damage. After a few seconds of searching, he found one close enough. It was definitely a good ten pounds, if not more.

Sucking in a breath, he slowly crawled out of the corner as quietly as he could. They didn’t suspect a thing, with the crackling of the fire and din of conversation outside drowning out any noises Corey could’ve made.

He lifted the piece of rubble high over his head, and then dropped it on the left one’s skull.

The man almost immediately crumpled to the ground, a bloody dent in his skull. The one on the right barely had any time to react as Corey immediately dug the blade into the back of his neck.

After a few seconds, he pulled it out, watching with grim satisfaction as the body fell down to the ground and joined its friend.

“Sorry, boys,” he mumbled, crouching down and rifling through what little pockets they had, “Either you or me. And, quite frankly, I choose me.”

All he produced was some petals, a few drugs he wasn’t even going to touch, and spray paint. He grunted in frustration, “Just as useless as you two.”

He pulled his attention to the exit of the tunnel. It was night, with the moonlight illuminating most areas well enough. Anywhere that wasn’t lit up by the moon was taken care of by the many raging fires that he could spy.

The exit of the tunnel was guarded by one Highwayman, similarly equipped to the previous two. It seemed that he was supposed to prevent anyone from entering, since he was looking outside, with the other two preventing anyone from leaving.

Corey didn’t bother with anything special, sneaking up behind him and slitting his throat without a word.

He quickly surveyed the scene again, now able to see more clearly without the difference in light levels messing with his vision. A derailed train cart formed a convenient path down from the tunnel. Corey could also quite clearly make out the bridge the train should’ve crossed had it not been derailed.

It seemed that no one thought there’d be many survivors there, though, as most of the force was clustered further down.

Unfortunately, that was also where Corey had to go. It seemed that it was the only viable escape route that had a paved road, and he didn’t want to take his chances in the woods in the middle of the night.

Especially when he didn’t even have a pistol to his name.

He quickly slid down the train cart, neatly hopping off it at the end and falling to the ground. Corey quickly swept the area, making sure there weren’t any Highwaymen around.  
Only for someone to grab him from behind a put a knife to his neck.

Corey had to consciously restrain himself from fighting, well aware that, should it be a Highwayman, they wouldn’t need much reason to slit his throat.  
Instead, he found himself pleasantly surprised when a familiar voice spoke up, “Who the fuck are you?”

“Relax, Rush,” Corey grunted, putting his hands up, “It’s me, Corey. Your favorite Irish captain-to-be, remember?”

He immediately felt the knife taken off his throat, Rush sighing in relief, “Oh thank fucking god it’s you.”

Corey turned around, facing the man, “You got a gun or anything? It’d be a massive help.”

Rush shook his head, “My AR got beat up pretty bad during the crash. I could barely salvage the magazine.”

“Any pistols?”

“You know I don’t carry any on me.”

“Fuck,” Corey growled, “Well, we need firepower. Literally anything would do.”

Rush made a thoughtful hum, “The cart with all the heavy guns is down there. They were still trying to break in when I left.”

“Well, for our sake, we better hope they’re too retarded to get in,” Corey grunted, turning around and beginning to walk.

“Wait, why are you going that way? We can escape by the tunnel.”

The Irishman shook his head, “Just came from there. It’s blocked off and about to go up in flames.”

“Shit,” Rush pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation, “We better start moving then.”

With a nod from Corey, the two began making their way down. Thankfully, it seemed that Corey’s guess had been true since they didn’t meet much resistance while moving, since it was all waiting down at the exit. Only a few lightly armed Highwaymen who were going through the pockets of piled corpses or spray painting the walls of the train.

A few stabs to the skull seemed to put them down well enough though.

“That’s it,” Rush whispered, pulling Corey behind another cart and peeking.

“What’s what?” he frowned, trying to figure out what he was talking about, looking around.

Rush gestured to the cart surrounded by six, maybe seven, Highwaymen. One was angrily kicking at the reinforced metal doors, three others searching around, and the rest were just lulling about. Corey immediately understood, nodding at the other man.

He had no idea how much of the weaponry in there remained usable at all after being flung off a bridge several meters in the air, but even if just a fraction remained undamaged, they had a chance at escaping.

“Even if we can’t get in, they also have guns,” Corey pointed out as well. It was true; most of the Highwaymen there at least had a pistol as far as he could see, with three even having rifles. It seemed that they were held together by duct tape and planks, though, seemingly about to fall apart at any moment.

While the munitions they had in the cart were by no means pristine, they were in much better shape than the salvaged rifles used by the Highwaymen.  
“Any plans?” the Irishman grunted.

Rush nodded, and before he could do anything, kicked the metal of the cart behind them. Loudly.

Despite the noise, it seemed only one or two heard it. From what Corey heard, they were discussing what to do.

“You stay here and murder whichever one comes. Then wait for a second one. If they don’t come, just let loose with the pistol. Should be enough rounds to kill all of them in one go,” Rush hurriedly explained, then slinked off.

Corey mentally cursed, only furrowing his brow externally and staring at where Rush had disappeared. His attention was pulled away when footsteps began approaching. He grit his teeth, pressing himself as flat as he could against the metal. His fingers clutched the hilt of his blade in preparation.

Timed seemed to slow when the Highwayman rounded the corner. Corey immediately pulled him in, thrusting the knife into the man’s head. He’d had to hug him in a way to keep him from making any sound, resulting in the blood from the man’s skull trickling onto his shirt.

Ignoring the uncomfortable warm wetness, he quickly dragged the body behind the cart. The Irishman speedily nabbed the pistol. It was thankfully an M1911. He then proceeded to take the four magazines the man had on him before deciding that was all and returned to his post.

He waited for a few minutes, listening for anything apart from his own breathing and the crackling of fire. His ears perked up when Corey heard another pair of approaching footsteps.  
“Neil?” a voice hesitantly called out, “The fuck is taking so long?”

When he rounded the corner, Corey quickly repeated the process, but fumbling slightly and drenching his shirt with blood.

The Irishman quickly grabbed the second pistol and put it in his holster for Rush when they met up again, taking the five magazines on his person.

“Something’s up, guys. Neil and Vincent just fuckin’ disappeared,” he heard a voice from the cart speak up.

After a short pause, another voice, “Damn. You’re right. Where do you think they went?”

“Probably to piss in a bush somewhere,” a different voice snorted.

Corey dared to peek out from his corner, surprised at what he saw. Rush was crouched on top of the cart, blade held in his hands, and seemingly preparing to jump and kill the Highwayman at the door with the rifle.

The two quickly made eye contact, Corey only nodding.

The Irishman drowned out the noise as Rush held a hand up with five fingers out. And then they started closing.

He quickly made sure the pistol was at full magazine, having just enough time to peek out again as the five seconds ended.

Rush silently leapt from the top of the cart, dropping on top of the rifle-wielding enemy and digging his blade in the man’s skull, completely piercing his motorcycle helmet.  
Before anyone could even raise their firearms, though, Corey popped out from his position and began firing. The bullets found their targets except for one, which Rush quickly took care of. The whole ordeal was maybe ten seconds, but it felt so much longer.

The two converged on the door, with Rush panting.

“I reckon we got two minutes to figure out how to open it, tops,” Corey grunted, emptying his magazine and roughly sliding in a new one.

“Easy,” Rush smirked, producing the key from his pocket.

Swiftly pulling open the heavy-duty door, the two were met with immeasurable disappointment. Almost the entirety of the arsenal was damaged enough that it wouldn’t be useful in any significant measure unless serious field repairs were done.

Despite the weapons being totaled for the most part, they were able to scrounge up a few pistols that were too light to sustain any serious damage as well as a decent amount of ammo to use. Rush opted to use the falling apart rifle from the Highwayman and have a slightly dented P225 as a back up, while Corey stuck to his M1911.

They were also able to find a grenade and three sticks of dynamite that remained relatively usable out of the 20 or so that had snapped in the fall.

“That’s about all the use we’re getting’ outta this place without proper tools,” Corey grunted, emptying his second M1911 for the ammunition and discarding the pistol.

Rush nodded, wrapping duct tape around the barrel of the AR15, “We should get going; we’re already running on a minute and a half.”

Corey peeked his head out the door, looking around. No Highwaymen yet.

“Coast’s clear. Let’s go,” he said, glancing back at Rush.

The man stood up, nodding. The two quickly got out of the cart, moving to the shadows and behind cover just as some other Highwaymen arrived. They didn’t stick around long enough to figure out how they reacted, quickly moving further down the valley.

The Irishman felt much safer now that he had a solid pistol in his hands, though they still stuck to using their blades. The pistols were more a last resort, since even with suppressors, they’d alert at least a few Highwaymen of their position.

At this rate, it seemed almost possible they’d reach the exit.

Corey flattened himself against metal again, in a similar situation. Rush was on the opposite side, preparing to attack from behind.  
The Irishman loudly kicked the metal of the cart behind him, holding his breath and readying his knife. But instead of one pair of footsteps, he heard two. He began to panic internally. Only slightly, though. If he was quick enough, he could do it.

It seemed his nerves weren’t up to the task, though, as when one rounded the corner, he snapped. It was almost on reflex. He thrust the knife out, skewering the Highwayman’s brain. But he’d momentarily forgotten about his buddy.

Before Corey could even move, the Highwayman let loose a short stream of bullets and screamed for help.

“Fuck!” he cursed, sliding his knife into its sheathe and unholstering his pistol.

While everyone was disoriented, he quickly took the opportunity to put a bullet in the whistleblower’s head, taking immense satisfaction in watching his body crumple to the ground. Switching positions, he quickly motioned to Rush to keep going.

They couldn’t afford to slowly clear out each group and pair one by one like they had before. Now, they needed to run if they wanted to leave.  
It seemed Rush got the memo, slinking back from his position and disappearing.

Corey started sprinting, tough he tried to be stealthy when he could and sticking to the shadows. It was getting harder, though. The fires were growing larger and the Highwaymen were setting up lights everywhere.

He didn’t have time to neatly end each enemy with his knife, either, opting to slash at them and not caring whether it was a killing blow. Some didn’t die immediately, and he could hear their screams of agony as he ran.

He’d use his pistol if he didn’t have to reload, which was incredibly difficult to do while running.  
Corey quickly rejoined Rush who had brought along another survivor as they neared the exit, seemingly close to freedom. It couldn’t be too far. They’d escape, regroup, and retake the train and their captured.

But it all came crashing down when almost a herd of vehicles approached like a wave, not giving them enough time to make a dash. Instead, they were forced back and back. Despite the blinding lights, Corey could make out several guns pointed at the three of them.

The entire moment passed almost in a blur, and before he knew it, the three were backed up against a dam that was a good fifty feet down before landing in water that was god knows how deep.  
Corey’s attention was immediately brought to the middle truck as the sounds of doors opening and closing rang out.

From behind the blinding lights, two figures appeared flanked by several others. Two women wearing a mixture of hoodies and motorcycle gear, with both wearing motocross helmets.  
“So you three are who have been killing all my people for the past half hour?” the one wearing pink asked, cocking a hip and crossing her arms.

The trio remained silent.

“Before we do anything,” the one in purple spoke up, “We need to clear something up; are you a problem maker or a problem solver.”

Silence again. The three had no idea what that meant. After a few seconds of the deafening quiet, the man next to Corey spoke up, “We’re problem solvers. We got supplies, tons of ‘em, and help people.”  
“Yet that’s the issue,” the purple one spoke in a sickeningly sweet tone, “You’re helping problem makers.”

In a move that was too fast for either of the three to foresee, the pink one lunged at the man next to Corey. He was dragged back by a Highwayman when he instinctively moved to protect him, with the same applying to Rush.

She beat him to death with the helmet, blood spurting every which way. Corey merely watched with furrowed brows and a slight frown.  
When the man finally stopped screaming for mercy and lay limp, she stood up. She was covered in crimson liquid, with almost half her face dotted in it.  
And then she turned to Corey.

Corey was released by the Highwayman, both sensing what was coming next. Before anything could happen, Corey simply narrowed his eyes, “You’re pretty clearly fucked up in the head.”

He made his mind up in that moment. He’d rather take his chances jumping from fifty feet in the air into the water and gamble a quick and painless death than being bludgeoned to it.

Right as she lunged for him with a crazy look in her eye, he threw himself off the dam. What could’ve possibly been his final words were simply, “Sorry, Rush.”

It might have been the wind whipping at his eyes, or the abrupt movement that messed with his vision, but Corey could swear that he saw Rush nod as he fell.


End file.
